


Firsts

by PhenixFleur



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dipper being smooth and then freaking out over it, F/M, I don't care fluff is awesome, Pacifica being Pacifica, Susan is a minor character obviously, awkward teenage dating, pa-pa-paparazzi, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pacifica's parents and their meddling threaten to ruin her and Dipper's first date, leaving him with the task of salvaging the night for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly older Dipper and Pacifica, post first summer, fluff. Yay! I tried to preserve some of Pacifica’s personality while still keeping her likable, whether I succeeded or not is a matter of opinion, I guess. Follows Radiance, so at this point she and Dipper have a pretty good friendship/pre-existing attraction to each other. 
> 
> Also my experience with finger bowls places them before the meal rather than before dessert, but I suppose worrying about that is pedantic.

Given that Gravity Falls was such a remote town and, for the most part, consisted of a defined middle class when it came to socioeconomic status, it wasn’t too surprising that there was only a single ‘ritzy’ restaurant within the town proper: La Superieure. It was the kind of hoity-toity, far too full of itself place that Dipper couldn’t stand, much less actually patronize of his own accord. There were no prices printed on the menus, an unspoken statement that if you had to ask, you didn’t belong there; all of the food didn’t exactly sound like dishes so much as fancy high art fixtures that just happened to be edible. He suspected that the presence of the Northwest family, as well as regular clientele from out of town that made the trip based on the notoriety of the restaurant alone, was the only thing keeping La Superieure afloat. He definitely couldn’t afford to eat there, nor anyone else he was well acquainted with. 

And it definitely was an uncomfortable choice for a first date. 

He squinted at the menu suspiciously, not only feeling out of place in the unfamiliar setting but exposed without his trademark cap - shoved unceremoniously into the knapsack he’d somehow managed to sneak in with them - while squeezed into one of the tuxedos that seemed intent on choking him to death. Most of the words were either meaningless or didn’t make sense for  _food_ : truffle butter, foie gras, caviar (he knew what that was and he sure as hell wasn’t eating it).

A simple tune flowed throughout the spacious dining room, produced by the skilled fingers of an actual pianist seated at what appeared to be a priceless antique piano in the corner, and all around him and his date a select few patrons conversed with each other, occasionally breaking out into peals of haughty laughter. He knew that more than a little of it was directed at him - despite being clad in an expensive suit with his hair slicked back stylishly it was obvious that he didn’t belong, especially seated across from the sole heir to the Northwest estate. 

Unlike himself, Pacifica seemed perfectly at home, albeit rather stiff in her favorite seafoam green dress as she studied her own menu with an incredibly fake smile plastered across her face. By now Dipper could tell when she was posing for the camera, and she was most certainly doing so at the moment. He raised his menu to shield his face from the rest of the room, whispering to the best of his ability, “No offense, but this is  _really_  awkward.”

Pacifica mirrored the gesture, keeping her eyes trained on the words in front of her. “Just smile like you mean it.”

Dipper opened his mouth to mention the lack of visible cameras intruding upon their privacy, only to catch sight of a young woman a few tables away snapping a picture with her phone. “Crap.”

He attempted to follow suit, twisting his lips upward into a faux luminous smile of his own, then lowered the menu to show Pacifica. “Like this?”

The heiress’s eyes widened, and she dropped her menu on the table as she burst out laughing in a manner that made the table of patrons next to them recoil as if offended. “Like _, no offense_ , but that’s terrifying. Never make that face again.”

Still wearing what he now imagined to be a gruesome leer, Dipper turned to face the woman holding the smartphone. She let out a squeak of surprise, dropping her phone on the plush carpet below the table, and Dipper began to laugh too. The tension between them slowly faded away, and although he still felt displaced it wasn’t as nerve-wracking with Pacifica there with him. 

“Couldn’t we have gone someplace normal?” he asked, finally giving up and folding his menu shut. Pacifica raised an eyebrow, and he immediately recanted the statement, realizing how it sounded. “Not that this is abnormal. I mean normal for me.”

Pacifica’s smile dissolved as she let out a heavy sigh. “I know…but my parents wanted to plan out the date so the press gets enough  _good_  shots of us together.”

“'Good’ meaning…?”

The heiress gestured towards the room around them with a silk-gloved hand. “This.”

Dipper sighed as well. He was used to Priscilla and Preston’s meddling by now - they didn’t approve of him in the slightest, and clearly resented his budding relationship with their daughter, but he was the one thing that she relentlessly pushed back against them for. In the end they caved, for the most part, although Pacifica was forbidden to visit the Mystery Shack (which she did anyway) or accompany Dipper to 'common’ places (which she did anyway), and most of their time together was spent at the manor - likely due to the lack of media exposure within their own home. It was something that continually worried him, even as their friendship grew deeper and began to shift into something more than just friendship. The two of them really did live in different worlds, and the possibility of his sphere of existence and Pacifica’s ever converging was almost nonexistent - not that he particularly wanted them to. For all the finery of the Northwest Manor it still struck him as cold and overly fragile, unlike the homey chaos of the Mystery Shack. 

A server approached the table, looking down his nose at Dipper as he placed two goblets of water and two small bowls of clear soup with what appeared to be some kind of fresh herbs suspended within it in front of them. Pacifica informed him that they needed a few more minutes to decide on appetizers and the first course, sending the server scuttling back to the kitchen. Dipper selected a spoon from the layout beside his plate that he hoped was a soup spoon, then dipped it into the bowl to try the plain and frankly unappetizing dish. As suspected, it barely tasted like anything, much less soup.

Pacifica cleared her throat softly, and he looked up at her with another spoonful poised at his lips. “Dipper, that’s not soup. That’s a finger bowl.”

“A what?”

“You dip your fingertips into it to clean them before eating.” Slipping off her dinner gloves and folding them neatly beside her plate, the heiress dabbled her fingertips delicately in the bowl before setting it aside. 

A light flush colored his cheeks as Dipper lowered the spoon, refusing to look at the rest of the room for fear of seeing yet another camera alongside the stares. “That explains a lot.”

After a moment of contemplation, Pacifica reached for her own soup spoon - a slightly larger one than Dipper’s, apparently he’d been wrong about the utensil placement - and took a sip of the water in her bowl herself, cringing at the taste. The gesture calmed Dipper’s nerves a little; he knew it was solely for his benefit, and it was reassuring that Pacifica was willing to put her own embarrassment aside in consideration of his feelings. Although very little embarrassed her, anyway,  what with her social status. He halfway expected a few of the other diners to do the same thing.

“So after this we have a leisurely stroll along the sidewalk hand-in-hand while window-shopping, followed by a couple of rounds of mini-golf.” Pacifica recited the words as if she’d rehearsed them many times before and was thus resigned to her fate. 

Dipper grimaced. “Did they seriously create an agenda for this?”

Pacifica stared down at her plate glumly. “I’m sorry. I wanted this to be fun, but…”

As much as he disliked the restaurant and its atmosphere, he disliked seeing Pacifica look so down even more, and as he scanned their surroundings a plan to save the evening from being a complete bust began to form in his head. With only the slightest amount of hesitation, he reached over to lightly touch his date’s hand. “I have an idea.”

* * *

“ _This_  is crazy. They’re going to notice we’re gone after a few minutes and come looking for us,” Pacifica hissed, clutching the hem of her dress and staring down at the pile of refuse spilling out from the nearby dumpster. Dipper’s plan, which he now realized wasn’t incredibly well-thought out, involved the two of them sneaking away from the table under the guise of Pacifica checking her makeup and his flat out, no frills attached request regarding where the restroom was, followed by slipping into the kitchen and making their way out the back door. He knew that ordinarily both of them leaving the table wouldn’t have gone over well at a normal restaurant, but he assumed La Superieure wasn’t really used to its patrons pulling a dine and dash - well, somewhat, it wasn’t as if they’d actually done the dining part. At any rate, this led to the discovery that the alley behind the restaurant wasn’t nearly as well-kept and tidy as the interior; the sickening smell of rot hung heavy in the air, and if it wasn’t for his experiences out in the woods with creatures far worse and occasionally much more odoriferous than mere garbage it might have had an effect on him. 

Pacifica, on the other hand, was thoroughly grossed out; she was unused to this kind of thing and hesitated in the doorway. 

Dipper lightly stepped into what he hoped was just a pile of discarded paper, holding out his hand and beckoning her forward. “Trust me, this isn’t the narrowest escape I’ve ever been involved in. It’s maybe a 7 out of 10.”

“This. Is.  _Disgusting_ ,” Pacifica griped. The heiress visibly trembled at the thought of treading upon the trash in her heels, gingerly taking his hand and following his lead with her dress held as high as she could muster without revealing too much with her free one. Together they crept past the dumpster and towards the mouth of the alleyway. As expected, a small handful of paparazzi lurked outside the restaurant, waiting with bated breath for the lady of the hour and her much less notable date to emerge. 

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Typical.”

Dipper scratched his head thoughtfully for a moment, then removed his knapsack and dug through it for a few seconds before producing his cap. “Here, put this on." 

As it turned out, Pacifica’s hair was much too long to be contained within the confines of the baseball cap and still poked out from beneath it, even after being twisted into a ponytail. There was nothing to be done about the dress, but at least with the brim of the cap shielding her face they didn’t have to worry as much about it ending up on the front page the next morning. 

"Okay.” Dipper narrowed his eyes, glancing over at the crowd and then back down the sidewalk. After the past couple of years of visiting the town for the summer he now knew the streets like the back of his hand, and he knew exactly where they needed to go to escape the hovering eyes of the press, Priscilla, and Preston. “When I give you the signal, we’ve got to run. Don’t look back.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m not letting your parents ruin our first date,” Dipper replied, firmly.

Pacifica’s worried expression sharpened into a knowing smirk. “First?”

Realizing his mistake, Dipper stumbled over his words, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean…I kinda assumed there’d be another one. Even though this one’s off to a pretty bad start. Maybe?”

“You are  _such_  a dork,” Pacifica giggled, poking him in the forehead playfully. It wasn’t a denial, though. 

Bracing himself, he clutched her hand once more, adjusting his knapsack. “Ready?”

Pacifica nodded.

“Go!”

Despite having fled from everything from gnomes to bears with multiple heads to a gang of interdimensional criminals, somehow running from the small group of reporters and celebrity journalists trailing behind them was almost more harrowing than his past experiences combined. He and Pacifica raced along the sidewalk, ignoring the cries of “There she is!”, “Miss Northwest, is this official?” and a slew of other personal questions that neither of them cared to answer. As expected, they stood out like sore thumbs in their dinner attire, and the crew outside the restaurant had noticed them almost immediately. Thankfully, he was used to running by now, and he pulled Pacifica along as fast as his terribly uncomfortable dress shoes could carry him. 

Turning a sharp corner two blocks away he noticed the familiar hole in the wooden fence, picking up the pace for one final long stride towards their destination. “In here!”

He pushed Pacifica ahead of him none too gently before squeezing himself into the hole leading to the junkyard and dragging her behind a pile of wrecked cars. He was glad that Old Man McGucket wasn’t around at the moment, because he definitely would have given them away. 

The sound of pounding feet and exhortations as to where they’d gone moved past the fence, and Dipper felt Pacifica grip his hand even more tightly. After a minute or two the noise faded, drawing further away into the distance as sweet silence settled upon the street outside and over the junkyard itself save for the sounds of Dipper and Pacifica struggling to catch their breath. 

The phrase 'I think we lost them’ lingered on the tip of his tongue, but before he could get them out he found himself being embraced by the heiress, tightly enough to temporarily knock the wind out of his lungs. “You’re amazing! Also my parents are  _totally_  gonna kill me.”

Squirming free of the hug, Dipper placed his hands on her shoulders supportively. “Don’t think about them right now. This is supposed to be fun, right?”

Pacifica nodded in agreement. Despite being surrounded by the rusty husks of dilapidated cars and other appliances, she seemed much more relaxed than before, less tense. “So what did you want to do?”

His stomach asserted itself with an audible growl, reminding Dipper that all he’d eaten for the past few hours was half of a glass of water and a spoonful of the water in his finger bowl back at La Superieure. “Maybe we should get some real food.” Glancing down at his rumbling stomach reminded him that he and Pacifica were still clad in fancy dinner attire instead of functional clothing. The idea of waltzing into Greasy’s in a tuxedo and ballgown was amusing, but not conducive to keeping a fairly low profile. “After one quick stop.”

* * *

Ending up in a restaurant with no prices on the menu wasn’t exactly how Dipper had expected his first date to go, but neither was popping into a thrift store prior its continuation to pick up decoy outfits for his companion and himself. At first Pacifica balked at the idea of wearing  _used_ clothing, but quickly managed to soothe her wounded sensibilities by convincing herself that the more fashionable pieces on display were  _vintage_ , similar to the practice of embracing older styles with respect to design. Wearing old clothes could be trendy if viewed in the correct light. All of this went right over Dipper’s head, but he had to admit that it was fun watching her model various ensembles. He’d done the same thing with Mabel before on many occasions, but this was obviously different. It was a constant reminder that Pacifica was beautiful no matter what she wore,  _vintage_  or not. 

The curtain separating the small dressing room from the rest of the store slid open, revealing the heiress in a outfit that was an approximation of what she usually wore - boots, leggings, and a rather pretty deep blue dress accented with golden beading in small patterns that resembled formations of stars. Her hair was pinned up tightly enough to fit beneath the cap he’d let her borrow earlier with only a few blonde strands visible, and her makeup was toned down a great deal. “How do I look?”

_Like the night_   _sky._

On anyone else the dress might have been tacky but she looked fantastic, although he was obviously biased. Dipper’s voice decided to fail him as he noticed one of the constellations just below her neckline - Ursa Major, composed of a cluster of stars that he was very familiar with. “Um. Uh. Words.”

Taking his lack of coherence as a compliment, Pacifica twirled in the mirror leaning against the wall, allowing the hem of her dress to swish against her legs. “You know, I’ve never pictured myself shopping in a place like  _this_." 

After countless conversations Dipper could recognize when she was being knowingly condescending, and this wasn’t the case; it truly was an unfamiliar setting for her, as was the act of buying anything that wasn’t shiny and new and expensive. He couldn’t really fault her for it on a regular basis - whether she’d become more mellow and less arrogant or not since her fateful mini-golf game with his sister she was still the sole heir of millionaires raised in a mansion with a slew of butlers and maids at her beck and call. She probably felt the same way he had in the restaurant earlier, and if so she was doing a better job of adjusting to the scenario than he had. "Is this really your first time in a thrift store?" 

He immediately regretted the inquiry the moment it left his mouth. ”.. that was a stupid question.“

Pacifica paused in front of the mirror, continuing to stare at herself with an unreadable expression. "There’s a lot of things I’ve never done. When we went to that arcade in the mall?”

The thought of never having visited an arcade before was one that Dipper couldn’t wrap his head around. Every childhood should have involved at least a single trip to a repository of game machines, sticky carpet, and cheap plastic toys behind the counter that you could exchange tickets for. “That was your first time in an arcade?  _Ever_?”

“Duh.” Her response was matter-of-fact, as if that was a stupid question too. “Of course it was.” She didn’t even have to explain why.

Two spheres of existence that didn’t converge. And yet, as Dipper watched the heiress preen in the mirror, adjusting the cap atop her head and then heading over to the wall of handbags and backpacks to choose something to store her evening dress in, he wondered if maybe it was really that impossible after all. 

“So what’s next?”

* * *

The stained menus shoved haphazardly into holders was much more Dipper’s style, and he grinned in anticipation while poring over the list of food that barely counted as food, but for an entirely different reason than the fare at La Superieure. 

They’d made it to Greasy’s without any interruptions; the brim of his cap did wonders for shielding enough of Pacifica’s face, as well as the absence of her characteristic length of blonde hair and the presence of a decidedly unfashionable black knapsack Dipper had finally managed to talk her into on her back. Within it lay her ballgown, heels, and the diamond and emerald jewelry she’d been wearing earlier, exchanged for sterling silver hoops that she’d grilled the saleslady at the thrift store over for a good ten minutes. Pacifica was Pacifica. 

Thankfully the diner wasn’t overly full that night, and they had far more privacy sitting across from each other in a booth towards the back. Pacifica’s reaction to the items on the menu was much less enthusiastic, and her voice actually shook as she lowered her menu to stare at Dipper intently. “Is this stuff edible?”

Dipper shrugged. “Mostly. I mean, it’ll kill you eventually, but that’s probably like 40 years down the line.”

“I have  _excellent_  health insurance.”

_Zing_.

The appearance of Lazy Susan halted further conversation; she was well-acquainted with Dipper at this point and greeted him warmly before pulling out her pad. “What can I get for you kids?”

After his experiences earlier, Dipper knew exactly what he wanted. “Double cheeseburger, with the works.”

“You want bacon on that, hon?" 

"Enough to give me a heart attack,” Dipper quipped, settling back in his seat and basking in glorious familiarity. 

Pacifica hesitated before piping up, in a tone that indicated that she wasn’t nearly as confident as he was about their upcoming meal. “I’ll take the same thing.”

Susan finished jotting their order down, winking at them in a manner that suggested that she knew more about the situation at hand than Dipper thought. “Coming right up!”

Whether she’d actually recognized Pacifica and decided not to rat them out or simply realized that they were on a date and wanted their space, the waitress seemed content to let them be, hurrying over to another table full of disinterested teenagers torn from the pages of an Edgy on Purpose sales flyer. Pacifica tucked her menu back into the holder, quietly observing her surroundings with interest; her eyes moved from the cake display to the accursed strength meter he now held a grudge against, to the spotted glass and over the old wooden floorboards. Dipper didn’t need to ask whether it was her first time in a diner, too. 

He also didn’t know how to break the silence. The atmosphere between them wasn’t nearly as tense as it had been at the beginning of the date, but now that they’d actually begun the 'date’ part (that didn’t involve running from the paparazzi and hiding in a junkyard) he was at a loss for words. They’d never had trouble striking up a conversation before, but this…this was different. He wondered if she was even having a good time or not. He was, for the most part; they could be running from monsters in the woods and it still wouldn’t be nearly as unpleasant with her at his side, but was she  _really_  enjoying all of this? He didn’t want to use the term 'slumming it’, but…

As if reading his mind, the heiress’s eyes met his, and her lips curved into a gentle smile that he’d rarely seen on her face. “Don’t worry. If I wasn’t having fun, I’d have ditched you already. Although if this food kills me I am  _so_  suing you.”

“Wait. Is this your first bacon cheeseburger, too?”

Pacifica glared at him. “Since it’s not covered with a single slice of aged gouda and served on a bed of fresh romaine,  _yes_.”

“I’m kidding,” Dipper chuckled. “Seriously. I’m really glad I can be part of all these firsts.”

Pacifica averted her gaze, with just a hint of color blooming within her cheeks. “Yeah.”

True to form, Susan returned with their food pretty quickly, plopping down two mismatched plates containing their cheeseburgers and a hefty amount of fries. “Eat up!” He was starving, so Dipper immediately bit into his, letting out a sigh of contentment.  _This_  was the kind of fare he was used to.

Pacifica’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her plate; she warily prodded her burger with a perfectly manicured fingertip. “Dipper, this is like 25% grease.”

Dipper swallowed a mouthful, all decorum thrown to the wayside. “More like 30. But trust me, it’s worth it.”

The heiress continued to regard her burger with more than a little skepticism for a few minutes, finally giving in to her own howling stomach and daintily taking hold of the cheeseburger. She lifted it to her lips, nibbling at it in an experimental fashion, then took a larger, more substantial bite out of it. 

Her eyes widened, and she came to a complete standstill; her gaze was still fixed on Dipper but she appeared to be looking beyond him. At what, he couldn’t tell. She chewed absently, then swallowed, staring intently at the burger in her hands. “Oh my god,” she whispered, reverent. 

Dipper gaped at the sight. He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, either; he’d never seen someone have such a visceral reaction to eating a cheeseburger. “You okay?”

The heiress nodded slowly, and when she lifted her head to look at him her eyes were shining - not with unshed tears, but exuberance. “My parents would hav…I mean, this is really good. For  _regular_  food.”

“That is the weirdest reaction I’ve ever seen someone have to a cheeseburger from a hole in the wall diner,” Dipper commented, dodging as she crumpled a napkin in her fist and threw it at him. “What? It’s cute!”

His internal critic reminded him that he was obviously flirting or complimenting someone he was attracted to, but he willfully pushed it back into the corner for the moment and refused to stutter as he usually would after making such a statement. As it was, he received the gift of seeing Pacifica appear bashful for a brief moment, twirling a stray lock of hair around her finger and averting her gaze once more. “Thanks.”

* * *

Life had a tendency to work itself in odd ways, and afterwards, when Dipper looked back upon that night, it dawned on him that in some form or fashion they’d ended up doing exactly as her parents had wished: wandering the sidewalk hand-in-hand beneath the streetlights, staring into storefronts and sometimes popping into interesting stores that were still open. All the while they conversed with each other without the awkwardness that had hung in the air before; it became somewhat of an impromptu interview, with Dipper lightly grilling her about 'regular’ things and Pacifica responding as to whether or not they were a first for her, occasionally describing what her equivalence was for certain activities. High tea in the place of snacks after school, consisting of small sandwiches and scones rather than juice and cookies. A small orchestra, live pony rides, and posh 'goodie’ bags consisting of treats crafted by a famous chocolatier in lieu of a birthday clown. Painting lessons from a watercolor expert instead of fingerpainting when she was too young to even wield a brush correctly. He’d realized this in the past, but her responses to his questioning cemented it. Perhaps being good at everything wasn’t simply arrogance, but a way of life; every activity, even those meant to be enjoyed had a level of competition to them - against the rest of the world in a bid to remain on top of it. Simply put, most of the heiress’s life was spent either developing skills for the camera or fueling her parents’, and, at one point, her own sense of superiority. Perhaps there was some genuine gratification in it all - there had to be, but it was hard to fish out the proverbial gems representing true happiness buried within the sheet of rock separating his life from hers. 

At some point Pacifica let go of his hand, racing over to press her hands against the glass of some boutique with a handful of elaborate clothing displays. The beading on her constellation dress caught the glow of the overhead streetlight, making it shimmer; he could pick out individual clusters of stars due to spending a good amount of time studying their formations while trying to make sense of his birthmark. Ursa Major, the Big Dipper. 

Pacifica interrupted his reverie, rushing back to him and grabbing his hand once more. A  _real_  smile graced her face, and she threw herself at him in another tight hug. “This is the best time I’ve had in like, ever.”

“Really?” Dipper leaned into the hug, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of her body pressed against his. “Doesn’t your family go on vacation in places regular people can only dream of all the time?”

“Yeah. But you’re here.”

_Oh_.

It seemed like the perfect time to present her with something he’d picked up at one of the stores when she wasn’t looking. It was only sterling silver, meaning it might tarnish slightly over time, but the saleslady had assured him that it could be polished once it did to preserve its shine. Despite how smooth he’d been so many times that night, he ended up fumbling this time, actually dropping the faux velvet bag while attempting to fish it out of his pocket. “Crap.”

He disengaged from the hug, kneeling to pick it up, and Pacifica tilted her head forward to get a look at what he’d dropped. “What’s that?”

Dipper stood back up, and his hand found its way to the back of his head in his embarrassment. “I…um…so I…”

“Is that for me? Dipper, you shouldn’t have!” Pacifica teased. It put him slightly more at ease, but his voice and hands still shook as he handed her the bag.

“No. Yes. I mean, if you want it. I thought you’d like it, so…”

The heiress untied the ribbon holding the tiny bag shut, shaking its contents out into her hand. The pendant dangling from the necklace was simplistic, a single star with a gem that was most certainly a rhinestone in the center. “It’s not real silver,” Dipper continued, anxiously. “It’s just sterling, but…”

“I love it.” Pacifica pocketed the bag, brushing her hair aside to put the necklace on; it rested between her collarbones, accenting her dress perfectly. 

“Really? It’s…it’s not real.”

“Really.” Throwing caution to the wind, she reached for the cap, whipping it off and placing it on his head while unleashing her waves of blonde hair. 

Then she leaned forward and kissed him, with a hand drifting up to rest against his cheek. After a second or two of surprise he returned the kiss, running a hand through her hair while doing so. It wasn’t their first kiss; they’d broken that barrier long ago, but this one was much different than the ones that had come before. This was no mere peck on the lips, and Dipper’s heart fluttered in his chest, so intensely that it almost hurt. When they separated, eyes fixed on each other with no awareness of anything else around them, the light flush across her cheeks had deepened; Dipper imagined he was wearing the same expression. 

“First?” He asked in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Same here.”

It was  _then_ that the impeccably polished limousine pulled up a few feet away; Pacifica took a step back, hissing an expletive under her breath. The door slid open, and the high, nearly hysterical voice of Priscilla Northwest rang out from within. “Pacifica Elise Northwest,  _what are you doing_?”

Pacifica looked up at Dipper apologetically, mouthing a silent “Sorry” as her face fell. 

“You come here this instant!” Priscilla shrilled. “You were supposed to be at the mini-golf course an  _hour_  ago!”

Preston poked his head out of the car, glaring at the two of them. “My god, what are you wearing?”

Pacifica pressed her hand to her face, sighing heavily. “Oh my god, Dad, they're  _clothes_.”

Her father’s nose wrinkled, and his gaze landed on Dipper, disapproving. “They smell like  _poor people_.”

The heiress groaned, turning away from them. “Dipper, I am  _so_  sorry.”

He understood perfectly; he’d been expecting something like this to happen the moment her family discovered that they’d jumped ship at the restaurant. That they’d actually managed to get a couple of hours away from them was a miracle, although he imagined that the Northwests had likely had something 'more important’ to do than track their wayward daughter down. Probably confronting the paparazzi from earlier.

“You should go with them before your mother goes into cardiac arrest,” he joked, with no resentment whatsoever. 

“Yeah." 

Looking over her shoulder at her parents defiantly, she hugged him again. "Thanks. For all the firsts.” Lowering her voice, she added, in a conspiratorial tone, “Next time I’ll just sneak out of the mansion when they’re not paying attention.” 

"Next time?”

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Um, yeah?”

Dipper grinned. 

Both Priscilla and Preston’s shouts rang out from behind her, in unison. “Pacifica!”

“I'm  _coming_!” she snapped, glancing back at Dipper as she approached the limo, obviously dragging her heels. The moment she climbed into the vehicle the door slammed shut and the limousine sped away, back towards the manor; apparently her parents didn’t have time or words to waste on him, although he imagined they had plenty of things to say to Pacifica. He felt a twinge of sympathy, but knew that it would be futile in the end. Pacifica normally got what she wanted if she was direct enough, and if spending time with Dipper Pines was what she wanted then it would happen, with or without her parents’ blessing.

Adjusting his cap, he slid off his knapsack and dug around among its contents, looking for his phone. The Northwests had been his ride from the Mystery Shack earlier, and now he’d need to call Soos to pick him up from town since walking home wasn’t too appealing. Besides, Mabel would be on the edge of her seat awaiting details; of course he’d leave a few out, but it wouldn’t hurt to indulge her somewhat. 

Not bad for a first date. Not at all.


End file.
